


a little too much mead

by amber_management



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Belly Rubs, Body Worship, Dwarf/Elf Relationship(s), Fantasizing, Implied/Referenced Sex, Insecurity, M/M, Post-Canon, Retirement, Sharing a Bed, Size Difference, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:09:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28871355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amber_management/pseuds/amber_management
Summary: since the war of the ring, gimli has done nothing but feast of good food and drink of good ale, and doing so has filled him out a little. he worries legolas will disapprove. he could never be so wrong.
Relationships: Gimli (Son of Glóin)/Legolas Greenleaf
Comments: 7
Kudos: 77





	a little too much mead

Early in the morning in their shared quarters of the dwarvish city built upon the crest of the Blue Mountains, Legolas and Gimli were wrapped up together beneath the covers of their bed.

The battle of the ring had been long and tumultuous, full of heartache and sorrow and pain, and now that the wretched thing had been cast into the fire, and the dark lord Sauron had finally been defeated, they decided to make the most of their time between wars as they could. 

They spent most of their days together. Whether it be in the sanctity of their private quarters, or wandering through the town hand-in-hand. The other Dwarves had thought it strange at first- an elf and a dwarf? Unheard of!- but over time they got over the shock and used to seeing them so happy together.

But they hadn't had much need for adventuring lately, of running and fighting and starving and sleeping rough and lightly in case the need arose for more running and fighting, and these past few months of nothing but eating and drinking and sleeping and fucking and merry-making had made Gimili, well... _soft_.

Gimli found himself noticing the fact while the sunlight was slowly streaming in from the window. Outside, the city was stirring, the forges had awoken, the metal-workers had gotten an early start, and people were bustling to and forth on their daily commute. Legolas was curled up against his side, his arm thrown over his middle, his long, lithe legs tangled with Gimil's, his face buried in the dwarves thick, hairy neck. 

He wasn't asleep, but he was breathing softly, gentle puffs of air gracing the bare skin of Gimil's neck, nose digging into the softer flesh there. Gimli was painfully aware of Legolas's hand resting across his middle, much larger and softer than the first time they had met, his fingers moving mindlessly around the furred mound.

Gimli had never thought of himself as a particularly self-conscious dwarf, but while his kind loved their food and drink, they were hard workers and good fighters, and it wasn't in their nature to grow stagnant and fat. He was unlike the fighters of old, like his old man, who trekked to the Misty Mountains and battled the demon Smaug and fought in countless wars. He was just a fat dwarf laid up in bed with an elf.

"Legolas," he said gently, lifting a hand to tenderly brush his fingers through the elves long, silken locks. Legolas stirred, humming softly. "Are you awake?"

"I am," Legolas pulled away, much to Gimli's disappointment, only to readjust himself and rest his head on his shoulder instead. "Is everything alright? You sound... distressed."

Gimli grunted. Legolas opened his eyes to watch him. "Have I gotten...  _ fat _ , since the war with Mordor?"

The look on Legolas's face would have been comical if not for how embarrassed Gimli was currently feeling, and he had to look away so he no longer had to look into those honest, caring eyes full of confusion and concern. "Yes," Legolas said slowly. "It's hardly a surprise. There is no longer need to starve or run across all of Middle Earth. Without the constant threat of death, our bodies are learning to relax and are remembering how to survive how they were always meant to."

"I don't know how this could have happened," Gimli grumbled. "I didn't think so much had changed."

"It's all that ale," Legolas said easily. "And the mead."

True, Gimli had spent almost every night at the taverns with Legolas and the other dwarves of this small town, partaking in pleasures he had been deprived off for so long, often having Legolas half-carry him home. But he never would have thought that such merry-making would result in _this_ of all things.

"I don't know if I'll be able to fit within my armour," he muttered. "Or wield my axe as effortlessly, or-"

"Hush," Leolass interrupted. "The war is over, and I doubt another one will arrive soon. You'll have plenty of time to worry about that. Not now, when the day is just begun. Besides, I think it quite suits you to be a little thicker around the middle."

When Gimli laughed, it was humourless. Legolas sat up to look down at him, resting his weight on one arm, his long hair cascading across Gimli's bare chest. Gimli refused to meet his eye. "How could that be true?" he scoffed. "You are an elf. You are... effortless in your beauty, and as thin as a waif, and always will be. Weight has no place across your hips, no on your middle, or your sides. You cannot enjoy that which you have never had to really experience first hand. Once you get a real knowledge of it... I will repulse you."

Pursing his lips, Legolas tried not to sigh. Truly, he wanted to duck down and place such a tender kiss against Gimil's lips that he would forget how to speak. But he also knew that he probably wouldn't appreciate it, so he sat up, slung his legs over Gimil's torso and slid down beneath the covers. "You don't know me very well if you think that I will be repulsed by a little added flesh. You don't know me at all if you don't think I love every inch of you."

"Legolas-" Gimli tried but was cut off by soft hands caressing his stomach. "Oh."

Legolas had thrown the sheets back over himself, so every touch, every brilliant sensation came as a surprise to Gimli, who was enjoying himself much more than he thought he ever would.

Fingertips calloused by the bowstring and palms as soft as milk tenderly kneaded his gut like fine dough, caressing the tender, soft flesh and sending tingling sensations down to Gimli's toes. The skin was stretched and pulled to its limits, almost painfully so, before Legolas's wonderful hands pulled him back together again and he was whole once more.

Talented fingertips, more familiar with firing arrows and plucking the strings of the harp gently stroked the dark, swollen flesh. It was like dough in his hands, soft and warm and puffy, lined with red stretchmarks that rose across the wide expanse like reaching fingers towards his bellybutton. Legolas followed them like a map with his fingers, leaving no scar untouched. Over their stay, Legolas had seen Gimli consume enough food to feed a small yet famished army, and enough ale and mead to satisfy every hobbit that called the Shire home. Truly, Legolas had expected this sort of outcome but was so enamoured by the mead that dribbled down Gimli's chin and the food caught in his beard and the hearty way he gulped down everything that touched his lips was more important to him than the size of the dwarfs visibly growing gut.

But this was the outcome, wonderous as it may be. Gimli's mid-section was swollen and soft, rippled with muscles sunken beneath a layer of pudge, dotted with a magnitude of scars of all different sizes and make, furred just like the rest of him. Legolas sunk his teeth into the meat there, and the flesh yielded willingly, nothing but a pillow of heated skin and fat. Gimli suppressed a startled yelp behind his teeth. Legolas dug his fingers in deeply and shook the mass- his gut wobbled and swayed and rippled like nothing Legolas had ever seen, and he was near-hypnotised by the sight of it, almost like the thing had it's own connection to the moon, pulling and pushing and surging like the tide.

"Beautiful," Legolas said. "Absolutely stunning."

"Legolas," Gimli mumbled a protest, but his heart wasn't in it.

But Legolas shook his head- he felt Gimli's thick fingers tangle in his hair, pulling tight enough to sting. But Legolas had his nose buried in the softness of Gimli's gut, so he felt that it was a fair trade. "This is just the beginning," he said idly. "I can imagine you, Gimli, without the weight of war on your shoulders and instead with the weight of many nights of indulgence on your hips. I can imagine you laying languidly in our bed wearing nothing but a silken sheet as I sit above you and feed you decedent morcels the likes of which you have never before tasted. I can imagine licking juices and crumbs from your lips when you are too tired and slow to get it yourself. I can imagine lying beside you each night, listening to your panting and moaning and huffing as you struggle to sleep with the weight of what I have filled you with. I can imagine countless nights at the tavern, handing you chalice after chalice of hard ale and sickening-sweet mead, and feeding you plate after plate of decadent meals that you need me to help you waddle home." 

Gimli gasped so harshly that it made his tummy tremble, and Legolas felt from where he had his cheek rested against it. He heated up suddenly, and he could imagine that Gimli was blushing a deep red. "Oh my."

"I love you, Gimli, thick or thin," Legolas said. A wicked thought came to him. "Now, if you don't mind me saying so, you seem to be a little hungry, a little empty. How about we spend the night at the tavern, hm? See how much work we can give those talented chefs."

There was a pause, and just when Legolas worried he had gone too far, Gimli let out a shaky breath in said in a voice that was full of lust and hunger, "I think that's the best plan I've ever heard come out of your pretty Elvish mouth. I'm  _ starving _ ."


End file.
